THE BABY IN THE RUBBLE

 

THE BABY IN THE RUBBLE

CHRISTMAS is a time of celebration. Families come together and share food and drink and enjoy being together. It is the overflow of the one great event in history when the invisible God became visible. He became one of us and lived a life like ours, facing the same joys and hardships and even more: he faced the full force of sin even to the point of death by execution.

This year in Bethlehem, one nativity set (a crib) is a heap of rubble and when you look hard you see a baby child hidden in its midst of it. Simple and startling. The crib becomes a focus of all the pain human beings have brought on themselves. Gazing at it you see the failure of people to live together in peace.

You ask why? And the only answer is because they are afraid on one another. Each is a threat to the other: Palestinian to Jew, Ukrainian to Russian, one Sudanese force and another. Fear has driven people apart.

This is all out there: in the news faraway beyond our ability to do anything.

But there is a fear closer to hand: our personal fears. What am I afraid of? What are you afraid of? It can often be something in my story, something in my life that shaped me in a way that holds me back from being free. It can be something unfortunate in my family, something out of my control. There are things that mark us and prevent our freedom from flourishing.

The psalmist talks of a tree planted in the desert and one planted by the water side. One has no chance to flourish while the other can blossom.

But we are not trees and we can do something about our fears. And the whole point of Christmas is that God has come to free us. If we can face the truth, it will make us free.

This is the hope, the joy, of Christmas. We can do something about our situation – what ever it is. Despite all our limitations we can be happy. But this happiness only comes when we face the truth and do not turn away.

Jesus was the most free human being who ever lived. He was also the most fearless. Even as a child of twelve he could get up and address his elders. Later, as an adult, he spoke boldly to the synagogue leaders and the Pharisees. When eventually he was led before Pilate, the conversation was such that it was really Pilate who was on trial, not Jesus.

Freedom from fear is the biggest gift we can receive at Christmas. And it is offered to everyone; male or female, Jew or gentile – whatever our race or belief. This is what the little baby in the rubble promises.     

Christmas    25 December 2023          Is 9:2-7       Tit 2:11-14 Lk 2:1-14

 

HOPE AND HISTORY RHYME

 

HOPE AND HISTORY RHYME

A two-meter tall crucifix dominates the wall behind the altar in Arrupe University College chapel in Harare. I have always thought it odd the arms are bent, as if the body is not hanging on the cross. It is as though the figure is standing on a foot rest with arms out stretched to enfold the gazer in a hug. The thorns are there with the bruises and the nails but it is as though he says, ‘Now, at last, I have done what I came to do: to gather you in my arms and present you to my Father and your Father.’

Advent comes to us in many moods. We speak of joyful anticipation but the priest dresses in purple, a symbol of suffering as well as imperial power. We speak of the lamb lying down with the lion and a little child playing at the hole of a python. These images of peace come to us with the rejection of John the Baptist and the child born in a stable because ‘there is no room’. And then we have this image: of Jesus on the cross coming towards us with open arms.

As this year closes, the bad news abounds seemingly on every continent. There are so many stressed with insecurity, hunger and oppression. Yet we need to remind each other that there is One who knows our pain and suffers with us. He does not come down from his cross but invites us to find our place on our cross. Then our hope and our poetry of peace will blossom. Listen to Seamus Heaney:

          Human beings suffer,

          They torture one another …

History says, don’t hope

On this side of the grave.

But then, once in a lifetime

The longed-for tidal wave

Of justice can rise up,

 And hope and history rhyme.

The Cure at Troy

In the midst of distress it is hard to receive the message of hope. Yet the very distress itself is the ore from which hope can be refined. The One who comes to meet us is still on the Cross. And it is on that cross that we will find our life.

17 December 2023      Advent 3B                   Is 61:1…11     1 Th 5:16-24     Jn 1: 6…28

PREPARE A WAY

 

PREPARE A WAY

I met a man this week who had never heard of The Beatles. There was an event in a hotel in Harare where the band played one of their songs, Let it be, and it brought a rush of nostalgia to the likes of me. It struck me how short our memories are. The majority of people in this country have no experience of the songs of the sixties or of life in Rhodesia and seemingly most don’t even ask what it was like.

A book on the history of South Africa, by Leonard Thompson, opens with the statement: ‘Modern Western Culture is inordinately present-minded. Politicians are ignorant of the past … People lack a sense of their location in time and fail to perceive that contemporary society is constrained by its cultural as well as its biological inheritance.’

How different the Israel/Palestine situation might be if leaders there paid attention to history.

If we are ignorant of the past, we can be even more so of the future. Yet Scripture plies us with reminders of what will happen even if it does so in poetic language which both hides – and reveals – the future: ‘The glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all humankind shall see it. …Go up on a high mountain …Shout with a loud voice … Here is the Lord coming with power, his arm subduing all things. The prize of his victory is with him …’

The message is one of extraordinary joy, consolation and comfort. This is the first message of what the Church calls Advent, the season of ‘Coming’. The second message, the one John the Baptiser was so forceful about, is preparation. The coming will not just happen, like The Beatles turning up to perform at a concert. The coming will only happen when we are prepared and we are taking our time at doing it; two thousand years so far. We are so slow to learn how to prepare despite the gospels being full of instructive guidelines.

The basic one is ‘losing your life in order to find it’ (Mk 8:35). Jesus said this repeatedly and then did it himself. And his is ‘the Way’. So the practice of ‘losing my life’ in every event of every day is the key to the future. Sport, art, politics and religion all shout this at us ‘from a high mountain.’ Advent is the time to hear this message.

If we could find our way to do so, we could bring justice and development to the nation and not just this nation but countries everywhere. OK, it’s a dream. But dreams have a habit of coming true. Martin Luther King’s, for instance.

10 December 2023          Advent 2B     Is 40:1…11      2 Pt 3:8-14      Mk 1:1-8

THE DEVIL OF DELVILLE WOOD

 

THE DEVIL OF DELVILLE WOOD

Advent is the season of hope, of looking forward. The wise men from the east looked forward to … what? They were not sure. But it was worth journeying through deserts and ‘cities hostile and towns unfriendly.’ There are times when hope grows dim. The people of Gaza today are hemmed in on every side. They have no food, no water, no medicine, no shelter, no future.

That is today. But there were times even more terrible. Little more than a hundred years ago, South African soldiers fought against the German army at Delville Wood in France. A German officer described the scene afterwards as a ‘wasteland of shattered trees, charred and burnt stumps, craters thick with mud and blood, and corpses, corpses everywhere. In places they were piled four deep. Worst of all was the lowing of the wounded. It sounded like cattle in a fair….’  

One man who survived Delville Wood died only in 1998 at the age of 101. He was Joe Samuels and he told his story a year before he died. ‘All I can say is the whole thing was terrible; there still aren’t words for it, even now. I know what happened to some of my own pals, I saw it. I felt as if some of my life was gone too then. That’s how I felt I can’t say I’ve ever really got over it, even up to now… It’s too painful, it’s too bad to think about, even now.’

How can you speak of hope to the men of Delville Wood? Isaiah puts it this way; ‘We were all like people unclean, all that integrity of ours like filthy clothing. We have all withered like leaves and our sins blew us away like the wind. No one invoked your name our roused himself to catch hold of you … And yet, Lord you are our Father; we the clay, you the potter, we are all the work of your hand.’

There are moments of intense suffering which expose the raw withered awfulness some of our fellow brothers and sisters suffer. And we must call to mind they have done no wrong that would deserve their calamity. They are suffering for us. They experience Gaza, Delville Wood or Golgotha for us. I cannot say, ‘I am glad I was not, or am not, there.’ I am there - if I have an ounce of feeling. No one lives, or dies, for themselves alone. We live and die as members of each other – our own family, which we feel intensely, and the whole human family.

In the depths of the worst that life can throw at us, we can still ‘rouse ourselves’ to catch hold of the One who said in his worst moment, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        3 December 2023                    Advent Sunday 1B                  Is 63:16 …64:8       1 Cor 1:3-9       Mk13:33-37